Marla Lukofsky

Marla at Mount Sinai Hospital Yogathon Fundraiser

2011-12-12T22:00:00.000-05:00

Cancer's Best Medicine

2011-12-11T20:58:00.000-05:00

By Aysun Kuck
Toronto Comedian Marla Lukofsky knows something about loss. But because of this, she has made the journey from comedy to cancer and back to comedy again. In her new keynote presentation, I’m Still Here….and So is My Hair, the 30-year veteran takes the audience on a very personal and achingly hilarious ride.

Canadian newspapers have dubbed Lukofsky “the reigning queen of comedy in Canada” and “suave and stylish”. Over the past 3 decades, she’s performed her stand-up routine in every major city in Canada and the United States. “I was also a proud member of Second City for one whole month,” brags Lukofsky, “until they realized I wasn’t Andrea Martin and asked me to leave.” Indeed, she bears a striking resemblance to Martin and gets asked about it all the time. “I also resemble Dustin Hoffman but only when I wear a dress,” she quips.

In the summer of 1998 while living in Los Angeles, Lukofsky was suddenly diagnosed with breast cancer, which had spread to her lymph nodes. A lumpectomy and lymph node removal was followed by an aggressive course of chemotherapy and daily radiation treatments. Lukofsky completed her treatments in January of 1999. “I don’t like to say that I’m cancer-free,” she admits. "The word ‘remission’ works best for me."

After returning home to Toronto, she had to deal with serious family issues. Her father passed away suddenly in June of 2004 and the following year her mother was diagnosed with leukemia. “She fought a hard fight,” Lukofsky reveals, “but after being my biggest supporter while I underwent treatment, my brave mother lost her own battle with cancer on February 9, 2006.”

Losing both parents so close to each other proved devastating. “They were the core of my foundation,” she says. “Life will never be the same without them. I’m doing my best to move forward by sharing my message of courage and humour.”

Since then she has written a memoir and a collection of short stories and poems describing her life experiences. In some of them she talks about her cancer with honesty, frankness and humour. Currently, Lukofsky is booked for speaking engagements in the Toronto area and across the country hoping that her story may help others.

Without losing any of the comic edge she’s become well-known for – this is the gal who can perform the entire Wizard of Oz in less than one minute – she has become a huge supporter for those who have gone through similar life-threatening challenges. Lukofsky jokes about the cancer, about intimacy challenges and about her body. “I was born with my father’s eyes, my mother’s mouth and both my parents’ noses!” After her appearances, it’s not uncommon for audience members to hug her, share their stories or cry. “It still surprises me when I receive these amazing and very personal e-mails from other cancer patients or their families and friends. It’s incredibly moving,” Lukofsky says. “When I wrote this speech, my hope was that if I could help just one person feel they’re no longer alone with their thoughts, their feelings, then I would have succeeded.”

“I’m a writer and a comedian so my sense of humour is not a coping mechanism but rather an innate part of my personality,” explains Lukofsky. “One night while I lay in bed, feeling extremely sick after hours of receiving chemotherapy, a mosquito flew into my bedroom, bit me and sucked up my toxic blood. I watched it fall fast to the ground, lose all of its little black hairs and die.” She smiles. “Now that’s what I call sweet revenge!”

A Fallen Hero in The City of Angels (One Slice in Marla's Life)

2011-02-11T18:12:00.004-05:00

It was a beautiful Los Angeles day on the third of September,2002.

My doctor's appointment with my surgeon, Dr. Adashek,(such a sweet man) went well. He said I felt fine, (referring to his examination which consisted of his hands carefully and methodically pressing and probing my breasts for any signs of recurring breast cancer). To celebrate another clean bill of health, I decided to go to Mani's on Fairfax for a (fancy shmancy, overpriced, politically correct, organically grown by properly paid and respectfully treated unionized human beings,) cup of coffee and to peruse the LA Weekly to see if there was a movie of interest for me to see that night. I had about an hour to kill before my next appointment with my oncologist, so Mani's seemed as good a place as any and let's face it folks. There's something about Mani's that makes even the uncoolest person in the city of angels feel just a smidge cooler than before they walked into the joint. There I was happily sitting in the outdoor patio of the cafe, taking stylish sips of my double shot Americano, (light on the water, with low fat milk, no sugar,) reading the Weekly and occasionally sneaking a puff off of my Marlboro Lights while nonsmokers looked over at me in disgust. ("Hey, at least I'm outside, and exhaling with the wind current you Jackasses"...I said to myself. To them I said "Sorry" with an apologetic smile). Suddenly there was a loud thump. All of the outdoor patrons heard it. A pigeon had hit the window of Mani's and the customer sitting nearest to it, picked up the stunned bird and placed it on the sidewalk near the curb. Near me. (Why he picked this particular place to dump the bird I will never know).

The pigeon was clearly very mixed up and confused, walking around in circles, just like a cartoon character would have done. Around and around and around it went. Watching it was making me nauseous. Eventually it circled too many times and slipped off the curb, onto the street, and under a parked car. Near me.

Several patrons including myself were glued to the future of this stunned bird. Some of them actually got out of their chairs (which was amazing since they were a commodity), daring to depart from their now luke warm double mocha soy decaf lattes, and bent down underneath the parked car, to where the bird was recovering, monitoring its progress aloud to us all. As time wore on, we eventually lost interest, since the bird had not made a move or sound of any significance. Well, an hour had passed and it was time for me to go to my oncologist, so I got up, went inside and paid my bill to the typically unfriendly, struggling actor/screenwriter/musician and counter server. What was this server's problem? Was it that my Americano coffee was not GRAND enough, not SOY enough, not $$EXPENSIVE enough to earn a smile, a grin, not even a measly little teeney,weeney thank you from him? Nevertheless, I proudly walked off with my head held high and slipped into my parked Enterprise rental car, which was just two vehicles away from the front entrance of the cafe. (I have good parking karma.) As I drove off, not a few yards into my drive, I glanced into my rear view mirror and saw a freshly squashed pigeon lying right beside that same parked car that it had slipped down under.(don't ask me how I knew it was a fresh kill ... trust me on this) What is the moral of this little story you may ask? I'm not quite sure exactly. Is it that we should all be happy for what we have in life? That we should enjoy each minute because we don't know what the future holds? That we should be happy we have our health, or that we're able to drink a good (yet too expensive) cup of coffee or that we should be grateful when we have a job no matter how demeaning? Maybe the moral is all of those things, and yet maybe none of them. All I can say with certainty is... I know exactly what happened to that stunned pigeon from Mani's in Los Angeles on September 3rd, 2002. There are many stories of 'What Ever Happened To' ... in this great city of fallen angels. I guess this is just one of them.

Marla Lukofsky's Signature Piece: The Wizard of Oz in 3 Minutes

2011-02-10T18:10:00.002-05:00

Marla Lukofsky's Edgy Stand-Up Comedy Routine

2011-02-10T18:02:00.000-05:00

Marla Lukofsky's Stand-Up Comedy Demo Reel

2011-02-10T18:00:00.000-05:00

Marla Lukofsky at her Animated Best. Animation Voice Demo Reel

2011-02-10T17:56:00.000-05:00

Marla Lukofsky's Acting Demo Reel

2011-02-10T17:52:00.002-05:00

Marla Lukofsky's TV Commercial Demo Reel

2011-02-10T17:50:00.000-05:00

Marla Lukofsky on National News Show as Last Word TV Columnist

2011-02-10T17:44:00.002-05:00

Marla's Bites at the Justine Apple condo: 2011

2011-02-07T11:46:00.002-05:00

Marla Having Fun with Friends by Justine Apple: 2011

2011-02-06T11:54:00.000-05:00

Marla and Hugh Banter Demo 2011

2011-01-24T19:48:00.001-05:00

Marla and Hugh Banter Dec.8,2011 Liquid Lunch

2011-01-23T19:16:00.001-05:00

Marla co-hosts with Hugh Reilly on Liquid Lunch TV Jan.13, 2011

2011-01-22T18:16:00.003-05:00

Pharlap (Story of a horse) in 3 minutes: Audio

2011-01-11T17:15:00.000-05:00

04 Pharlap (Story of a Horse) by marlalukofsky

The King and I in 3 minutes:Audio

2011-01-11T17:07:00.000-05:00

03 The King and I by marlalukofsky

Gone With The Wind in 3 minutes:Audio

2011-01-11T16:57:00.000-05:00

02 Gone With The Wind by marlalukofsky

The Sound of Music in 3 minutes:Audio

2011-01-11T16:41:00.000-05:00

The Sound of Music in 3 minutes by marla lukofsky

That Damn Apple Pie

2011-01-01T21:26:00.001-05:00

Isn't it always somethin'? One day you're flying high, having had a great performance to a sold-out crowd in your autobiographical one woman show, CBC wants to interview ya, someone wants to do a documentary on ya, an American company wants to publish your memoir after only one submission, then 24 hours later everything changes and not for the better. One moment you feel like it's all come together just as you had hoped it would and wham, nothin' is coming together no mo'!
I believe in the 'one step at a time' theory. Be happy for that step. Be happy for what happened at that moment. Do your best. That's all you can hope for. Don't count your chickens before they hatch. That glass ain't half full. It's just a glass with water in it. If you're thirsty, take a sip.
Just putting it out there into the universe doesn't cut it anymore, but staying in the moment and really appreciating that moment does.
Trouble is, that moment passes. That's why they call it 'a moment'.
Then ya get another moment. A new moment.
It might not be a pleasant one, but heck, it's another piece of that pie.
Another piece of that damn huge honking apple pie we call LIFE.
I like apple pie personally... as long as the pieces of apple are very soft and easy to digest.

Speed Dating For The Bisexual in You!

2011-01-01T18:08:00.001-05:00

Just when you thought you had come to terms with your sexuality…
Just when your parents finally agreed to stop calling your lover of five years, your ‘special friend,’ …
Just when you figured out all the words to the acronym LGBT …
Now ladies and gentlemen and trans alike, you may abandon all of your almost accomplished pieces of mind, SSRI meds, and expensive therapy sessions that OHIP doesn’t cover, by addressing that hidden part of yourself or rather, the part that pleases not only your parents but the rest of your extended family, and hey, let’s not forget, most religious sects, cities, countries and society in general.
It’s time to attend the new and refreshing Toronto Bisexual Speed Dating evening. It’s free but we still like money and all donations are accepted with proceeds going to ‘Good For Her’ on Harbord to invest in better vibrators.
This is all you have to do.
Show up at our clandestine location, showered and shaved, and give each person your undivided attention. I know that’s hard. Be prepared to talk AT them, maybe even listen for a change, for three whole minutes. Yup, three entire minutes. It will feel like an eternity but remember that your attention span is not what it was. Once you have accomplished that, you change partners and do it all over again and again and again. Just think of it. You might find the person of your dreams or you just might realize that no one can meet your expectations and you will rot your life away in a one-bedroom government subsidized apartment. Worst-case scenario…you just might find out that you are plain old gay and not bi at all. No more fence-sitting allowed.
Light beverages will be served and since our budget is low for this event, we might be able to provide some day-old pastries but again, that’s only a maybe. Hope to see you all there. Early registration required. Seats, self-esteem and sanity limited.

The Wizard of Oz in 3 minutes:Audio

2011-01-01T17:27:00.000-05:00

06 The Wizard of Oz by marlalukofsky

Funny Girl in 3 minutes:Audio

2011-01-01T17:22:00.000-05:00

05 Funny Girl by marlalukofsky

Death Has a Sound

2010-12-30T20:08:00.000-05:00

Death is the deepest of silence.
It is a quiet unlike any other.
Do you hear that?
Be still and listen.
There it is.
A quiet unlike any other.

Marla co-hosts with Randy Thomas on Liquid Lunch Aug.12,2010

2010-09-03T16:39:00.005-04:00

Marla co-hosts with Hugh Reily on Liquid Lunch July 15,2010

2010-09-03T16:26:00.003-04:00

Interview on Liquid Lunch TV June 9/10-Part 1 Marla Lukofsky

2010-09-03T15:42:00.002-04:00

Interview on Liquid Lunch TV June 9/10- Part 2 Marla Lukofsky

2010-09-03T15:40:00.003-04:00

Interview on Liquid Lunch TV June 9/10- Part 3 Marla Lukofsky

2010-08-03T08:41:00.003-04:00

Mount Sinai Hospital: Click on letters to enlarge

2010-05-07T20:13:00.001-04:00

The Toronto Star by Diane Flacks: Click on articles to enlarge

2010-05-06T08:08:00.015-04:00

The North York Mirror

2010-05-06T07:59:00.012-04:00

The Canadian Jewish News

2010-05-06T07:55:00.007-04:00

Ernestine's Women's Shelter

2010-05-06T07:50:00.000-04:00

Women's College Hospital

2010-05-06T07:45:00.001-04:00

Willow Breast Cancer Support Canada

2010-05-06T07:43:00.000-04:00

The Olive Branch of Hope

2010-05-06T07:40:00.000-04:00

Sunnybrook Hospital Odette Cancer Centre

2010-05-06T07:36:00.000-04:00

Canadian Cancer Society Conference

2010-05-06T07:33:00.000-04:00

Pamper Me Senseless Fundraiser-Waterloo

2010-05-06T07:23:00.000-04:00

National Council of Jewish Women

2010-05-06T07:19:00.000-04:00

Gilda's Club Toronto

2010-05-06T07:15:00.000-04:00

George Vanier High School

2010-05-06T07:11:00.001-04:00

Bayview High School Letter

2010-05-06T07:06:00.001-04:00

Marla at CCS Conference in Saskatchewan

2010-05-05T22:44:00.005-04:00

Marla at The Olive Branch Symposium

2010-05-05T22:41:00.003-04:00

Marla at Sunnybrook Hospital's Odette Cancer Centre Speakers Series

2010-05-05T22:40:00.005-04:00

Thunder Bay Chronicle

2010-05-05T22:33:00.009-04:00

The Sentinel Review

2010-05-05T22:18:00.012-04:00

IS Gay Pride in Toronto of 2010 Really something to be Proud of???

2010-04-30T17:37:00.003-04:00

GAY PRIDE 2010 IN TORONTO. IS IT REALLY SOMETHING TO BE PROUD OF????

You’ve all heard the news. The group named Queers Against Israeli Apartheid (QAIA), who was a part of last years Gay Pride Parade with permission and support from the Gay Pride Planning Committee shouted out words of hatred and carried signs showing the same messages. Some displayed swastikas. If this group is so harmless and just expressing free speech, what does it tell you when their actions incited bystanders to utter anti-Semitic verbiage?

Let me remind you that Section 318 and 319 of the Criminal Code of Canada makes it an offense to incite hatred against an identifiable group or to make public statements that promote hatred.

That describes this group perfectly.

Toronto politicians say they MAY not fund Gay Pride next year if this group remains in the parade. Why MAY, I ask? Why not NOW as in this year!

Hillel said: "If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”

Now is the time to do something to prevent this damaging group from participating in Gay Pride, period.

Protesters in the United States weren’t able to "Stop Dr. Laura, (Schlessinger)" but Canada did in 2009 by banning this American popular radio personality from Canadian stations for being critical of homosexuality. Her comments fell under the category of Canada’s hate crimes.

If Canada could do this to Dr. Laura, why can’t Toronto do this to QAIA?

The Canadian Broadcast Standards Council agreed with a complaint that Dr. Laura was abusive towards gays and lesbians.

QAIA is abusive towards Israel, and in turn, Jews, because let’s face it folks, it’s one and the same. Even if there are Jewish members in QAIA, they are obviously self-hating Jews.

Just to let you know, Dr. Laura Schlessinger calls herself a Doctor, but her biography says the Ph.D was earned in physiology, NOT medicine or psychology. She gives advice to millions of listeners across North America. Just think of the damage she may have caused to others with her words.

Schlessinger has repeatedly described gays and lesbians as "abnormal," "aberrant," "deviant," "disordered," "dysfunctional" and "an error." She's also linked homosexuality to pedophilia.

QAIA repeatedly describes Israel as unfair and cruel. They claim that Israel denies equal human rights and equates it to the former situation in South Africa. Why doesn’t QAIA acknowledge that Israel is the only democratic country in that area, that it is the only country that has gays in the military, in parliament, in universities, and protects its homosexual citizens under its laws, unlike so many other countries. Take Uganda for instance. Being gay or lesbian in Uganda is illegal and those who are, risk being locked away for up to 14 years. Now, a new parliamentary bill wants gay people to face even stiffer penalties and is proposing life imprisonment and even death sentences in some cases. Many Arab states and communities have similar punishments towards homosexuals. In Iran, those found having homosexual sex may face death by either hanging, stoning, cutting in half by a sword, or dropping from a tall building or cliff. Why doesn’t QAIA spend their energy exposing the real culprits who threaten gay people’s human rights since Gay Pride is a gay celebration after all, isn’t it???

Ernst Zundel, a leading Holocaust denier, neo-Nazi propagandist, white supremacist ideologue and one-time resident of Toronto, Canada, was also found guilty several times after making derogatory statements against Jewish people. He too proclaimed that he was simply exercising his right to freedom of speech. Interestingly, as long as he kept voicing his opinions, synagogues and Jewish cemeteries in Toronto were being desecrated. In May of 2005, a Federal Court judge declared Zundel a threat to national security and Ottawa deported him to Germany where he faced charges of inciting racial hatred and defaming the memory of the dead. In 2007, he was found guilty on fourteen counts and imprisoned. Finally! Well, that’s one way of fixing the problem.

So Dr. Laura is out. Ernst Zundel is out. But Toronto can’t seem to get rid of QAIA. I say put your money where your mouth is, Toronto.

Toronto threatens gay parade’s funding over anti-Israel group

April 22, 2010

(JTA) -- The city of Toronto has threatened to withdraw funding from a gay pride parade if an anti-Israel group is allowed to participate.

The city believes that its anti-discrimination policy was violated by the participation of Queers Against Israeli Apartheid in the 2009 Pride Toronto parade, to which the city gave $121,000, the Toronto Star reported Monday.

The city reportedly received complaints about the use of the phrase "Israeli apartheid."

Pride Toronto officials told the newspaper in an interview hours before the city's general manager of economic development and culture made the funding cut threat that it had not been decided whether the group would be allowed to march in the 2010 parade.

The threat follows the announcement and cancellation last month of a Pride policy that would have parade signs reviewed by an ethics committee.

Elle Flanders, a Jewish member of Queers Against Israeli Apartheid, objected to the city comparing a political opinion on apartheid to hate speech.

"They're trying to compare it to hate speech, and I find it deeply offensive, as somebody who's been fighting human rights battles for a really long time, to hear that criticism of the State of Israel is somehow hate speech. No way," Flanders told the Star. “”

I say nope! The most offensive thing is that this group hides behind freedom of speech instead of admitting just what they are doing; inciting hatred.
Check out this link.

www.thestar.com/.../article/797207--city-may-cut-pride-funding-over-israel...

‘City may cut Pride funding over ‘Israeli apartheid’ marchers
'May' is the key word here. Why May???

Bureaucrat calls name of Queers Against Israeli Apartheid ‘very problematic’
Very Problematic??? That's putting it mildly!

Check out this article by The Globe and Mail.

www.theglobeandmail.com/news/...gee/...israel-gays.../article1540175

“Israel is the only country in the Middle East where gays and lesbians enjoy full legal protection against discrimination. Jerusalem and Tel Aviv are the only cities in the Middle East that have gay pride parades. So imagine the surprise of Jewish Torontonians when an anti-Zionist group called Queers Against Israeli Apartheid showed up at last year’s Toronto Pride parade to rant about the crimes of the Jewish state.

What business does such a group have in a parade celebrating the fight for homosexual rights? Kyle Rae, the gay city councillor who helped found the hugely successful annual event, says the group is piggybacking on the parade to spread a political message “that has nothing to do with celebration of pride.”

He has a point. By worming its way into Pride Week, which draws more than a million people, Queers Against Israeli Apartheid gets a broad platform for its fringe message.

That message is far from harmless. The group says it was formed “to work in solidarity with queers in Palestine and Palestinian resistance movements around the world.” If that were its real objective, you might expect it to protest the plight of homosexuals under the fundamentalist Hamas regime in Gaza.

In fact, the group has little to do with gay rights. Its real aim is to portray Israel as a racist state, undermining the country’s legitimacy by comparing it with South Africa’s apartheid regime before the end of white rule. On the issue of whether Israel even has a right to exist, it says on its website: “It’s hard to answer this question without making clear what exactly it means.” Last year the Ontario Legislature declared that calling Israel an apartheid state “incites hatred.”

Pride Week organizers have been slow to wake up to this threat. When Queers Against Israeli Apartheid first popped up, the organizers listened to voices within the gay community that said it would be a mistake for a movement with roots in protest and dissent to seem to be banning anyone from the march. They backed down again when critics in the community objected to a decision to create an “ethics” committee to vet placards carried in the parade. “Don’t Sanitize Pride,” the critics said. “Free expression must prevail.”

But the organizers can’t be hamstrung by fears of being labelled censors. That is just the quivering reaction that Queers Against Israeli Apartheid are counting on. In the same way that the far-left groups that once infiltrated the peace movement cried “red baiting” whenever someone tried to challenge them, Queers Against Israeli Apartheid cry “free speech” and expect everyone to run for the hills.

This is not a free-speech issue. The group is free to spout its malignant nonsense on any street corner day and night. It has a free run of many university campuses. No one is shutting down its website or blacking out its posters. The question is whether a parade dedicated to promoting gay rights is obligated to welcome a group that is pushing a completely different agenda – one that happens to deeply offend many people both in the parade and on the sidelines. If it is, then Pride could soon become a very different event, with contingents from every group with an axe to grind and a pink triangle to slap on its placards.

Fortunately, Pride now seems to recognize the danger. Organizers have revised their procedures to make sure that march applicants get a closer look and that marchers can be held legally accountable for any violence that might stem from their actions. After warning that city funding could be withdrawn from the event if it doesn’t meet Toronto’s anti-discrimination and human rights policies, city officials say that “there are now mechanisms in place that allow Pride Toronto to keep the focus of the parade on the celebration of the history, courage, diversity and future of the LGBT communities.”

That – not the supposed sins of Israel – should be the message of Pride Week.”

I THINK THIS GLOBE AND MAIL ARTICLE SAYS IT ALL!

Pictures of Marla doing Speeches: Click on pictures to enlarge

2010-04-27T20:46:00.011-04:00

MOTHERS ARE HUMAN TOO

2010-04-21T20:56:00.006-04:00

Years ago, during a rough patch of strained communication between my mother and me, I had a conversation with my late Aunt Phyllis, my mom's beloved sister and partner-in-crime. While visiting my aunt one day, I told her that I thought my mother didn't love me.

She paused for a moment, then broke her silence and said, "That's interesting, Marla, because your mother told me that she doesn't think you love her."
Up until that point I had never thought that my mother had the same feelings of vulnerability that I did, or that she needed love and acceptance from me. It astonished and pained me to hear this news. I had never wanted to hurt my mother in that way but I hadn't realized that she needed to be loved too. I had believed it was a parent's duty to love their children, never giving it a thought that it would be nice for them if those feelings were reciprocated.

A similar realization occurred years later, when my mother came to Los Angeles to help take care of me during my cancer struggle. We had spent lots of time together doing errands like shopping, banking, walking-all the necessities of life and living. Most of the time we didn't talk much, except for the obvious things that needed to be discussed. But one day while at my apartment, we had an argument that caused a silence between us.
I went to my room, lay on my bed and stayed there for a while to be alone with my thoughts, feeling uncomfortable with what had happened. My mother stayed out in the living room and sat in the tanned vinyl chair near the window, reading the newspaper. I called my sister Elaine and told her of the disagreement that left my mom and I in silence. I told Elaine that I was afraid my mom was mad at me. She told me that she had spoken to my mother a bit earlier and that my mother had said the exact same thing. My mother was afraid that I was mad at her.
Once again, it struck me that she, too, was human and I wasn't being attentive to what she might need. I went out to the living room and sat by her side, while she remained in the tanned vinyl chair, still reading the newspaper. I placed my bald head on her lap. She took her hand and caressed my head firmly, but gently. I told her that I thought she was mad at me and that I felt bad about that. She told me that she thought I was mad at her and that she was so afraid of making me more sick when all she wanted to do was be there to help me. We cried together, holding each other. I told her that I loved her and she told me that she loved me.
"I'm sorry that I am so sick and such a burden to you and everyone," I confessed.
"You are not a burden at all, Marla, and this too shall pass. This too shall pass," she assured me.
We held each other for a while longer, rocking in each other's arms.

Yes, my mother and I had our problems. Ours was not a perfect relationship. And as much as I thought we were very different, my father often said that we were more alike than not and that it was our similarities that got us into trouble with each other. I'm still not sure of what we had in common that got us stuck. What I do know for certain is that she was a dutiful mother, a mother who cared deeply for her children and wanted everything to be fair and equal amongst my two older sisters and me. If we were in trouble emotionally, physically, or financially, she was there for us in a heartbeat.
What I needed from her (like more hugs and kisses) was not always something she was capable of giving me. It's not that she was trying to be cold or withholding, but she used to say, "It's just not my way." Much later on in life I decided not to stand on ceremony waiting for her to hug me. Instead, I would make the effort and hug her first.
Now she has passed away and I can't change that. I can't take things back or make anything better. I hope she knew that I loved her before she died. Oddly, out of the three Lukofsky girls, it is I who struggles the most without her, even though I was not the closest to her. What I learned from all of these memories is that she was human too.

My mother was human too.

Marla Lukofsky
February 9, 2010
She died February 9, 2006

THE MOST HATED WORD CURRENTLY USED

2010-04-14T22:50:00.005-04:00

AWESOME

Awesome has got to be the most irritating, obnoxious, under-educated, over-used word in current circulation. It absolutely irks me. I am vexed by it. And concerned for all of mankind. I think it started with a teenager at some point and then their parents,babysitters, or lovers who may have a much younger lover, started to adopt this word as a form of expression. Perhaps 'form of expression' is too worthy sounding a description. How about, too mentally lazy to formulate something more articulate than the word 'awesome' to describe anything at all pleasant.
Anyone who agrees with me, just send me a comment in one word...AWESOME!
And remember folks...
Have a day.

Marla's Passover for 2010

2010-04-01T08:49:00.007-04:00

MARLA'S PASSOVER of 2010

March 29, 2010

Passover is coming and so are the four questions.
#1 Why do we get together once a year with people we don't really like?

#2 Why do we eat foods that are not mentioned in the bible and they only leave us with constipation?

#3) Why isn't it mandatory to drink 12 glasses of sweet wine (the kind that will give you diabetes if you don't have it already) during din to help us cope?

#4) Why do we read the Haggadah, written by white sexist, homophobic men who never heard of a razor and must have been on a few hits of acid when they came up with this stuff?

BONUS QUESTION:

#5) How soon can we get a colonic appointment... to clean us out? Not soon enough. Stayed tuned for Marla's Ten Plagues. It’s a doozy!

MARLA'S TEN PLAGUES

1.
(Turn water to blood)
Turn all water to lemon flavored Gatorade.
Our electrolytes will be more balanced,
even though it tastes funky.

2.
(Frogs everywhere)
Moths everywhere and they only eat banana republic clothing.
That makes the gap manufacturers head office very very happy in ever so conveniently located Malaysia.

3.
(Lice everywhere)
Bed bugs that only embed themselves into Sleep Country mattresses. That should stop those annoying radio commercials and make them stand by their guarantee of returns...the one they didn’t honor with me.

4.
(Flies swarming)
Bernie Madoff swarms to freedom, gets released based on good behavior as he offered his inmates and guards a deal of guaranteed prosperity, then clones himself and takes over all the money left over in the reserves of the country and swindles them all over again so that free health care will be impossible not that it was gonna really happen anyway, lets face it folks.
Talk about a plague!

5.
(Livestock diseased)
Livestock of all shapes and sizes will become ambulatory, strong and powerful and hold exhibits of human zoos and human races at woodbine, one big race in particular called the pink plate, instead of the queen’s plate. Win, place or showww.

6.
(Boils)
The supplier of Botox goes bankrupt and there's no mo Botox available for anyone, rich or poor. Talk about true tragedy. All those people who you thought didn’t have much emotion just weren’t able to show their emotions by frowning or smiling. Now they are showing it all and the creases are incredible. Talk about making up for lost time frowning, smiling, and wrinkling away.

7.
(Hail)
Vancouver weather shall inherit the earth and at the same time
there will be no antidepressants available to help people cope
with the gloom and s.a.d. effects. I'd rather have hail.

8.
(Locusts)
Reeses Pieces shall cover the entire earth so that nothing
can grow except you and your body.

9.
(Darkness)
And I will shall you light and sunshine 24/7 so that way it will be hard for everyone to fall asleep and it wont be just me anymore.

10.
(Death to the first born)
Death to the meter maids just as they are about to write off the last digit of anyone’s license plates. We can park anywhere in Toronto the city of no parking OR death to the middle born who keeps the peace for all families so there is no havoc, no chaos, and what will be left will be such dysfunction that the adoption rate will skyrocket.

Disclaimer: Any names,companies,places, or subject matters mentioned in this piece are not based on fact and was written for satirical purposes only.

I Wish

2009-11-21T17:15:00.004-05:00

I wish that when I touch myself, it would feel as good as when you touch me...
but it doesn't.

November 21st, 2009
M. Lukofsky

The Cloud

2009-11-21T17:08:00.003-05:00

When I touch your ever so soft areola, its like my fingers are moving through a cloud.

m. lukofsky November, 2009

Surrendering

2009-11-21T16:58:00.005-05:00

You grab me in your arms,

Taking the breath out of me.

Clutching my hair and

Tossing me to and fro.

I follow your lead,

As I am too weak with passion

To resist any attempt to guide me

Wherever you want.

My fluids arise to the surface,

Making everything easy and smooth.

Your lips make everything change.

So full, all knowing of what my mouth wants.

I’m swollen, I’m open.

You are too.

You let your needs be known.

I gladly give at will.

With my mouth, my tongue, my fingers.

Your sounds let me know its

Pleasure you feel.

I too allow the same in return.

The walls come down.

You fill up my cavern.

I thrust my desires into you.

An even temper, ever so deep.

We are one at times.

I breathe, I can’t breathe.

My heart stops for a moment.

I’m Yours.

Marla Lukofsky July 28/09

Your Landscape

2009-11-21T16:45:00.003-05:00

Your neck, the skin that lies upon your bone structure

is like a beautiful landscape.

It curves, it swerves, it glides, it dips.

It’s soft, it smoothes into the crevices of your

warm body.

I love to gently ride my fingertips

along it all.

Oh... your landscape.

I love it so.

M. Lukofsky

May 26^th, 2009

A Piece Of You

2009-11-21T16:40:00.001-05:00

I met you, shared moments, some laughter, some thoughts.

We broke bread together, broke the ice together.

I felt,

I had a piece of you.

We got familiar, found similarities, found differences, formed a bond.

We learned to listen, to understand one another.

I felt,

I had a piece of you.

We got closer, more vulnerable, more open, and free.

Some walls came down. We touched, we kissed. We loved.

I felt,

I had a piece of you.

We became a part of each others lives, intertwined,

With food, friends, family, music, and life.

I felt,

I had a piece of you.

Yet your heart and mind were not solely for me.

Someone else lurked nearby, seemed just around the corner.

Its young, its pretty, it flits and it flirts. It does make sense that

I felt,

I had a piece of you.

At times, we continue to share our moments,

Much laughter, and thoughts, tears, touches and hugs.

We find ourselves amidst cool sheets, briefly connected beneath the covers,

And still I know that,

I only have a piece of you.

April 26, 2009

By: Marla Lukofsky

Moved

2009-11-21T16:37:00.004-05:00

M, A moment in time, marvelous,

O, Out on a limb

V, Vulnerable, vivid,

E, Emotional, exceptional,

D, Daring, dark and soothing in hue, dynamic in feeling.

How does one explain the sensation of being moved.

It brought tears to my eyes that morning. Wednesday.

Dared to share them. Just came out. Ever so slightly.

Salty you said.

You were so gentle, tender, caring.

Your touch at times conveys more than you say.

M Lukofsky Sept 18, 2008

Testimonial Quotes From Viewers of My Speech

2009-02-05T10:01:00.005-05:00

"... funny, insightful, thought provoking, informative, moving, and generously personal."
"...poignant and meaningful."
"...deserves to be heard by as broad an audience as possible."
" Lukofsky's skill and energy as a seasoned performer combined with her sincerity, humor and confidence fuel a hilarious, and sometimes shocking but always passionate performance."
"...remarkable balance between hilarity and brutal honesty."
"... a gift to those who are going through this..."
" I have no doubt in my mind that Marla will save lives though she may never met those people."
"...we laughed until our sides ached and we cried until our hearts ached."
" Real is what stands out and appeals to me most about Marla. Just plain real."
" From the moment she took the stage, we were engaged by her always honest, oftentimes funny and heartbreakingly poignant story."
" Your words of advice are those of the universal language of human compassion. "
"The audience was mesmerized!"

The Burial Shroud

2009-02-05T09:51:00.001-05:00

THE BURIAL SHROUD

It was the day of my mother’s funeral, February 12h , 2006. The time was 7:00am. One of my mother’s last requests before she died was that I assist in dressing her in the traditional burial shroud and I agreed to honour her wish. From what I have been told, this deed is a very rare occurrence. I anxiously waited at my apartment for the funeral home to call and tell me when my mother’s body was ready to be dressed.
Once I got the call, I promptly left and drove carefully to Steeles Memorial, a Jewish funeral home in the north end of Toronto. After parking my car, I looked around and there seemed to be no one in sight. All the drapes were closed and the doors were locked. I knocked on the door several times and finally a man opened it asking me to identify myself. “ Yes, who are you and what do you want?” he said rather abruptly.
“ I’m hear to help dress my mother in the burial shroud” I answered softly.
“ Ah yes, you’re the one” the man now solemnly replied. “Come this way.”
I followed him through a maze of hallways and with each turn, I felt my mother’s presence getting closer and closer. If ever there was any truth to the theory that a person leaves behind a spirit or soul once they pass on, I was a believer at that moment.
Finally he brought me to a large metal door. He knocked on it three times. Out popped a woman’s head. She was wearing a kerchief on her hair and a white robe and rubber boots on her person.
“ Yes, what is it?” she asked.
“The woman is here to dress her mother,” he answered.
“ Oh yes, please, please come in. She is ready for you,” she thoughtfully said to me.
I was escorted into the room. This was where they wash and prepare the deceased before burial. It was extremely cold inside and the floor was wet with water. There were two other women in the room who were assisting the woman in charge with the body preparations. They too wore head covering, white robes, and rubber boots on their feet. There was a garbage bin tucked away in the far corner, full of hospital gowns, blankets and other paraphernalia from every medical establishment and home in the city. It was full of the last remains that adorned the bodies that had passed through this room. I recognized many of the colours in the bin since we had gone to several different hospitals during my mother’s 8-month illness.
As the woman guided me to the centre of the cold room, she told me that my mother must have been a very beautiful woman because she is still so very beautiful even now. The other two women quickly agreed. “ Yes, she is a very beautiful woman” they said almost in unison.
These women were right about that. My mother was a natural beauty and retained her looks right up until the end and thereafter.
“ Here she is” said the woman in charge, as she placed me beside the cold wet table where my mother lay. My breath left my body at that moment, not because I was afraid of what I saw but rather because I couldn’t wait to see my mother again and take care of her one last time and that time had now come. There she was, so still, so beautiful. The women stood around quietly as I leaned over to touch my mother’s face and hold her hand. I find that death is the deepest of silence. It is unlike any other silence I have ever heard.
The woman in charge placed a robe around me, told me to say some prayers in Hebrew and we proceeded to place my mother in the burial shroud. I then wrapped the belt around her waist as instructed, all the while reciting the Hebrew words that the woman told me to. I folded the end of the belt three times, hoping that I was doing everything in accordance with the Jewish law. After a few minutes, the shroud was in place and we all carefully moved my mother into her coffin, while I paid extra attention to every movement so that my mother’s body was never bumped or hurt.
“We have to keep going because we have many more to clean up and prepare today,” the woman in charge compassionately told me. “I don’t mean to rush you. I can give you one last moment with your mother and then we must move on.”
I thought to myself, ‘How does one soak up the image and presence of someone you love more than your own life, knowing that you will never ever see them again and you are given only a few minutes to do so.’
I leaned down closely towards my mother’s body, took hold of her hands and placed them on my face so that I could feel her touch, so that I could feel her affection towards me one last time. Then I placed her hands gently back down by her sides and just kept staring at her face, actually hoping that her eyes would open up and we could leave together because this really was just a bad nightmare after all, wasn’t it? I lowered the hood of the shroud so that I could see her face more clearly and gently moved my hand across her bald head and smoothed out her eyebrows, just as I had done so many times before during the last few months of her illness. With the tip of my finger, I stroked the bridge of her distinguished looking nose, traced the outline of her perfectly shaped lips, and finally bent over and placed the most tender of kisses on her mouth and both of her cheeks.
I turned to the woman and resigningly said, “ I’m finished now” even though I wasn’t.
I walked towards the large metal door, took off my robe, and glanced back at my mom one last time, trying to burn an imprint into my mind’s eye of her.
That was the last time I saw my mother.

Marla Lukofsky
February 12, 2008

The Kiss, Your Kiss

2009-02-05T09:47:00.002-05:00

Your lips, so full, bodacious bodies,
Fall on mine, though smaller.
Engulfing mine with gentle firmness if that's possible.
A silver lining of moisture coating our mouths
So that they slide ever so softly and easily,
Fluid in motion, lyrical like music, without missing a beat.
I lose myself in your lips, your mouth, and the power of it.
So gentle yet firm.
So impulsive, yet all knowing in what they want to do next as if rehearsed.
Warm like the perfect heat that radiates from a beautiful
fire that's slowly dying down but still has an ongoing flame.
Not too hot, nor harsh, but simply just right.
Sliding, moving, and always connected with feeling,
Like dancers who have been together a long time
and can read each others steps before they take them.
Your lips, your kiss.
When your passion comes thru by way of your lips,
So Warm, So Full, So luscious,
So purposefully knowing of what they want from me,
I lose myself once again.
The sensation is like no other.

Feb. 2, 2009 11:11pm
By: marla lukofsky

You can't always choose whom you love, but you can choose how to find them. Start with AOL Personals.

My 50th Birthday

2008-05-18T18:55:00.007-04:00

By: marla Lukofsky

It was a hot sunny humid day on July 3rd, 2006 in Toronto. Nothing unusual about that. Summers are pretty brutal here. But today was special. It was my birthday, my 50th to be exact. The big 5-0. Some say it’s a turning point in one’s life. I’ll let ya know.

I woke up very early from my restless night’s sleep and began my day as I usually did. A hot cup of instant coffee in one hand, a cigarette in the other, and sat on my balcony staring out at the active world around me.
'What are they so busy with?' I wondered as I alternated between my smoke and my java. 'And why do they feel the need to keep spinning like little tops on a board game?' When my cup was empty and my butt was put out, I headed outside and walked my dog in a haze of sad feelings. I bumped into a woman on the beltline, who told me about ‘the glass being half full’ rhetoric. I didn’t respond to her words, as I usually would have since those types of phrases bring out the debater in me, but my heart wasn’t in it.

Soon after, I drove to synagogue for morning prayers and saw my two older sisters, Elaine and Fern, standing in the hallway. At first I thought, 'Wow, they came to pray with me.' So moved by that thought, I started to cry. Elaine, my middle sister comforted me. Fernie laughed nervously not knowing what to do with my vulnerable feelings. After some discussion I found out that my sisters were actually there to support a friend’s last day of Kaddish prayers and were on their way out. So, they weren’t there for me after all, I realized.

Elaine asked if I wanted her to stay with me for the later service. “Yes, I would Elaine. That would be really nice”, I gratefully replied. Once we got settled in our favorite pew, my sister stood right beside me and put her arm around my shoulders holding me throughout the entire service. Her touch felt like heaven. Most of the ladies I became friendly with at that synagogue were away for the July 3rd weekend, and the pews seemed emptier than usual. But who isn’t away when it’s my birthday. It’s the long weekend every year, ya know. When I was younger, I took it personally that no one was in town on my ‘special day’ but now that I am older, I know better and I still take it personally. I said hello to the few familiar faces and some wished me well.

Thirty minutes later, the service concluded. I told my sister Elaine that I needed to go to the cemetery. She said she understood and asked if I wanted her to come along with me. At first I thought ‘no, I want to be alone’. And then I realized that deep, deep down, I did want her to come and be with me so I said “Yes Elaine, please come with me. I’d like that. But first walk me to my car. I have to show you something, something strange that I did.” She took my hand and we walked over to my car. When we got to my tin haven, I opened my car door and grabbed an envelope off of my passenger’s seat. I handed it to Elaine without saying a word. She looked at the outside of the envelope’s inscription and read it to herself.
‘ To Marla… From Mommy.’ Elaine looked back up at me, smiled and nodded her head with understanding and acceptance. “I don’t think this is strange at all,” she said. “May I read the inside of the card?”
“ Yes…please” I replied.

Elaine opened the card and silently read it slowly and carefully, taking her time, absorbing every word with the utmost concentration. She looked back up at my face and said, “ Yes, Marla, this is all true.” My eyes began to tear up.
“Why don’t we take one car to the cemetery Marla and you can drive. I know you like to drive and you’re such a good driver”, Elaine suggested.
“Ok, Elaine,” I sniffled.

When my sister and I arrived at the empty cemetery parking lot, we could see that the long weekend had not only affected my birthday, but the amount of visitors who would have usually come to see their loved ones as well. It was so quiet, so peaceful, just a perfect day for a visit.
Elaine and I stood at the fresh looking grave. The earth was still settling in.

Elaine offered to read out loud the card I had shown her. I agreed, “That would be good if you could do that for me Elaine, because I can’t.” There was a sprinkler nearby which kept spritzing us every two minutes and it interfered a bit with our time together at the grave site but it did not stop us for a moment.

She began to read my card with great feeling and meaning, making the most out of every single word, as if she knew how much it meant to me, to give me something, some strength, some peace, something that there are no words for. As I heard the words being read, I started to cry and suddenly I cried harder than I had cried all year. Harder than I knew I could cry. My tears came from the depth of my very soul and resonated from my belly. I was making up for lost time, I guess. Elaine put her arm around me, comforting me as I wept, and the sprinkler continued to spritz us as she continued to speak aloud its contents.

The words in the card were:
‘FOR MY Daughter WITH LOVING THOUGHTS,
I know I have a wonderful daughter in you
because I see your strengths and talents and all your hard work.
I see your warmth, your thoughtfulness, and the way you care about other people…
I see the person you are inside-
The goodness and generosity that are so much a part of your daily life,
And I want you to know how much I love you and how grateful I’ll
Always be to have you as my daughter.
Happy Birthday

As we stood in front of my mother’s gravestone, which she shared with my father who died a year and a half before her, we read over the dates of my parent’s death out loud, together.
Louis Lukofsky: Died June 1, 2004
Ruth Lukofsky: Died February 9th, 2006

I felt the need to explain to Elaine why I got the card.
“You see Elaine, I went to Shoppers Drug Mart to buy some toiletries, the night before my birthday, when suddenly I steered straight towards the card section specifically to the ‘birthday for daughters’ section. It was as if I had no control over my body. I riffled through many cards, reading one after the other, trying to quench a thirst I had, in finding a card that I thought Mommy might give me if she could have. I just had to find the right one and buy it and pretend somehow that Mommy gave it to me.”
Elaine listened intently. I continued.

"You know Mommy was an honest person and didn’t flower things up. She would never give me a card saying that I was the perfect child who never gave her a bit of trouble. On the contrary, her cards always said something specific and true, with some details of that particular person. I was so relieved when I found a card where I heard her voice coming through. After I bought it, I took it home, placed it on a stool and hovered over it like a rare fragile gem. I couldn’t sign it. How could I? That would be wrong. So I just stared at it for hours. Later on, I put it in its envelope, went down to the underground garage and put it in my car to take to the cemetery.”

Elaine said my mother’s spirit and memory guided me to the store, to that aisle, and to that very card, and she added that my mother would have indeed thought those things of me if she could have lived to tell them to me.

While standing at my mother’s grave, I felt the need to ask Elaine a very important question that had been burdening me since my mom died. It was in regard to my mother’s request for me to help wrap her in the ritual burial shroud. I was concerned of my mother’s mental status at the time.
“ Did she know what she was asking of me Elaine? Was it real?”
Elaine assured me that at the time, it was one of the last times my mother spoke with great purpose and clarity. She requested to see her sister, her best friend and her rabbi to make her last requests known.
I told Elaine, "Mommy asked me in private, if and only if I could handle it, would I wrap her in the burial shroud after she dies. And if I can’t handle it she will understand. I didn’t even know what a burial shroud was but I knew one thing for sure. I knew I could handle it because I would do anything for my mother in time of need and I told her just that. 'I can do that for you Mommy… I will do anything for you… and I can handle it.'
And Mommy said to me, 'I knew you could…that’s why I asked you.'

Elaine responded.
“ Marla, do you think those are the words of a person who is not in control of their mind and thoughts? Those are the words of a person who knows exactly what she wants. Mommy told the rabbi of her unique burial wish. She told Fernie and me separately that she wanted you to wrap her in the shroud. She knew this might be the last time she would be able to talk like this and let her wishes be known. Marla…don’t think for a moment that she didn’t know what she asked of you. She knew what you did for Daddy…staying with his body all that time, getting it cleaned up in the hospital and placing him in the body bag and waiting by his grave until the last drop of soil was put on him. She knew if you could do all that, then you could do this for her. She didn’t ask Fernie or me because she knew we couldn’t handle it. That’s not our strengths. It’s yours. So if anyone questions Mommy’s request to you, ignore them, and remember that others did not understand your relationship with Mommy. You two were very similar. You two have strengths in being devoted to loved ones."

After listening to all that Elaine had said, I felt more at peace with my query. I then spoke to my mother out loud, in my own words, from my heart and Elaine listened quietly and patiently. Finally I was finished. I cannot share what I said to my mother. Some things are private.

We walked back to the car, and drove over to pick up my sister Fernie. Then we headed out to 'Sushi on Bloor' for my birthday lunch. So there we were, me and my sisters, going out for lunch together, just the three of us, instead of it being five. It felt so strange without my parents joining us.

While we ate our sushi delights, my sisters pulled out my birthday cards.
I read Fernie’s first and it was lovely. “Thank you Fernie”, I said.

Then I read Elaine’s three cards. She always gave more than one you see.
The first one was from Charly, my dog, thanking me for giving him a good life and saving him from the pound and impending death.
The second one was a mushy meaningful one for being a special sister to her. And the last one…was a card in an envelope that had an inscription on it saying ‘ To My Daughter, From Mommy’.
I looked back up at Elaine, shocked and desperately asked her, “ Did Mommy pick this out for me before she got too sick? Is this really from her?”
“No”, Elaine said sadly. “I picked it out myself yesterday."
Then it hit me. That’s why Elaine didn’t think it was so strange, me buying a card on behalf of my mother to me, because that’s exactly what Elaine did too. We shared the same thought. We have a special understanding Elaine and I. She asked me to read her card.
I did:

‘Dear Daughter,
On your birthday, I want you to know that, in my heart, you’re always with me. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you, care about you, and wish good things for you…
Not a day goes by when I don’t appreciate how lucky I am to have a wonderful daughter like you.
With Love on your Birthday and Always,’
Love Mommy. Elaine wrote the signature but it still felt that it had come from my mother in a way. The gesture meant a lot to me.

I locked eyes with my sister and cried openly. Then Elaine cried too and finally, Fernie opened up her floodgates and joined us in tears. Elaine reached out and held our hands. She said, “ Mommy would be happy you are celebrating your birthday Marla. That’s what she wanted you to do.” I was still torn with the feelings of celebrations on such a sad day.
I added, “ Mommy would be happy that we are sitting here together, the three of us, talking and sharing our thoughts and feelings and emotions.”
So there we were, the three Lukofsky girls, crying, holding each other and eating sushi. I wondered what the restaurant staff was thinking. But in the end, it really doesn’t matter what anyone thought of us. It was real and it was honest.

My mother told me, on July 3rd 2005, as she lay in her hospital bed receiving her first of three chemo treatments to slow down the leukemia, that she would be with me on my next birthday, my big 5-0. Her exact words were,
“ I’m sorry for ruining this birthday for you, but I will make it up to you for your next one and it’s that special birthday, the big 5-0.” Of course I assured her that she wasn’t ruining my birthday or any other birthday and never could. I assured her that my birthday wasn’t important to me but her health was. I assured her that there was nowhere else I’d rather be than by her side. And as she spoke of her wishes for me for the next year, I wondered, ‘will you be with me Mommy, to celebrate my 50th birthday, as you would want, as I would want? Will you?’

My mom died in February, six months before my 50th birthday, July 3rd 2006. Not having my mom there, made it very hard for me to celebrate my ‘special birthday’. I attended and partook in certain activities, a gathering of friends after my sister’s lunch, but I was walking through most of it. Just going through the motions. It felt wrong to enjoy the day. It felt wrong to be joyous. Someone was missing from the picture. I did my best to get through it all because I know that’s what she would have wanted me to do, or at least to try. And as I reflect upon all that had happened that day, I could see that in a different way, my mother was with me after all. On some level, on some alternative dimension, my mother was indeed with me.

The End.

By: Marla Lukofsky
July 2006
mmlukofsky7@aol.com

'Thank You Daddy, Thank You'

2008-05-17T14:05:00.002-04:00

(This story was inspired by a visit I shared with my father at Mt. Sinai Jewish Cemetary on Septemer 11th, 2002, in Toronto. It was just before Yom Kippur and we were paying our respects to our relatives who had passed on before us. I learned alot that day.)
__________

IT was a nice sunny yet breezy day, a nice day for a visit to the cemetery if there is such a thing as a nice day to go to a cemetery. I picked my dad up at the house at 73 Wenderly Drive. My mom, Ruth, had a plastic bag ready for us, full of things that were needed for the visit to the Jewish cemetery off of Wilson Ave. so my dad could visit his parent’s graves and say a prayer for them. In this plastic bag was a prayer book, a little bottle of water so that we could rinse our hands, a Jewish ritual, some paper towels to dry our hands, and a little paper bag with about 4 small smooth stones to place on top of the tombstones, yet another Jewish ritual. It shows that someone visited the gravesite.

My mom and I helped my dad put on his jacket and zipped it up. My mom suggested that my dad wear a cap instead of a yarmulke because of the breeze but my dad said no, he wants a yarmulke. As always mommy was right and in the end, my dad did take the cap.
I helped him into the car and started to pull the seatbelt over to his hand when suddenly he said purposefully "I can do it myself." I often have to remind myself that my dad has to have the option to exercise some independence since so much of it has been taken away from him due to his circumstances of osteo-arthritis. My dad was securely seated in the car and I jumped into the drivers seat and away we went.

The two of us drove the regular route to Mt. Sinai Cemetery, down Wenderly to Dufferin, make a right and go along Dufferin to Wilson, make the left, and within a few minutes we were there. We didn't talk during the drive and the talk radio filled the silence. I parked where he wanted me to, in the handicapped spot.

We got out of the car and I took his arm and together we walked a bit of a way to the first area. Each area is designated to each synagogue congregation with different names. Ours was in the Shari Shomeyim Lebovitch section. We walked along the cemented pathway together, arm in arm, with the plastic bag full of goodies in my other hand. I kept looking closely reading all the names on the stones looking for the name Lukofsky. As we got closer, there was a space in the line-up of gravesites, and my dad pointed to this empty stoneless space and said, "That is where we are going to be."
By ‘we’ he meant my mom and him. Then he started to cry but kept walking along a few stones to his parent’s graves. It was very hard. Hard to see that my dad knows he is at the end of his journey of life and not ready to give up and die.

We walked a little further ahead and there it was on a black granite headstone with the letters in a written font, Lukofsky. It was strange to see it and every time I see it, every year, I feel that same strange way. My dad was sad but strong. We stood in front of his parents shared tombstone with two separate graves nicely kept up with flowers and greens. I am not sure what flora they were. My dad started to weep but spoke at the same time.
"It's nice, isn't it?” he asked.
"Yes, it’s very nice Daddy,” I agreed as I held back my tears."

I pulled out the prayer book and saw that my mom had a marker in it for the appropriate prayers. One was for a woman and the other was for a man. My dad took the prayer book in his hands, swollen and twisted from arthritis. He started to pray over his parent’s graves in Hebrew. He cried as he read. I had one arm around his back gently rubbing in circular motions while my other hand was placed on his chest to give comfort to his soul.

He first read for his father and then for his mother. My Dad put the marker back in between the pages and gently closed the cover of the prayer book. He began to speak to his parents in English. He told them as he wept (and me along with him,) that he missed them; that he loved them; that they were good parents; that he was not doing so well; that Meyer, his brother was sick too and that’s why he was not here with him today, and finally that "Marla, your granddaughter is here with me to pay respects to you both." When he was finished, I gave him a tissue to wipe his face and handed him two stones, one for each of his parent’s monuments. He placed them gently on top of their gravestones and I did the same.

After spending a considerable amount of time with his parent’s, my dad wanted to visit his aunt's grave, which was several rows away. As we walked along, I quickly scanned the ground in search of more stones because there wasn't any left in the little paper bag to place on my father’s aunt’s site. I eventually found two smooth stones and we carried on.

Once we found my father’s aunts grave, we repeated the same ritual. My father read from the prayer book, we placed some stones on top of her monument and then we walked slowly out of that section.

As my father and I walked together, we passed a monument that had so very many stones on top. My dad noticed this and said, " That person had a lot of people visiting them. That's nice." I looked around at the sea of monuments. So many monuments had one or two stones on top, some had four or six, and many others had nothing at all. No one came to see them, to remember them, to pay their respects to them. That made me terribly sad for those lonely people. I started to wonder… who would visit my grave?
Some Jewish rituals have more relevance than others. I can see how the ritual of leaving a stone on top of the tombstone can tell a story all on it’s own.

My father and I had finished our visits with the departed so we walked along the graveled roadside of the cemetery towards the parking lot. When we approached the car, I felt the urge to go to the washroom and I told my dad that I had to pee and wanted to use the chapel washrooms.
He asked, " Can you hold it”?
I thought my dad meant, until we get back to the house.
"No way” I shouted. I’m gonna bust"!
My dad explained and assured me that he meant, could I hold it until I get to the chapel washroom after taking him to the car to sit down.
" Ohhh… Of course I can Daddy,” I said sweetly.
I assisted my father into the seat of the car, and left the door open for air as I quickly ran inside the chapel to use the facilities. I ran out just as fast to check on my dad, and found him quietly sitting with one leg on the pavement and one leg in the car, just thinking. What his thoughts were must have encompassed many things. Things I wish we could talk about no matter how painful they may be.

I got my dad comfortably settled in the car, with the seatbelt secured and the car door closed. I jumped into the drivers seat, closed the car door and buckled up. We were now ready to go back home to mommy.
I took the same route back only reversed. I knew it well. Along Wilson to Dufferin. Make a right at Dufferin and take it straight to 73 Wenderly Drive. Easy driving.
While driving, I started to think of what a good son my dad is.
I said to myself 'Say it outloud Marla… tell him what you think before it is too late'
I suddenly got this big lump in my throat and I was fighting back the tears, but I got it out. " Daddy… you are a good son."

As we drove along, I looked over at him occasionally and he looked so cute to me, my father, the patriarch of our family, the man we still rely on for so many things and he is still handsome and cute yet older and frail.
I stroked the back of his head, gently smoothing his fine white hair. It’s so soft. I always love that part of my dad's head. Then I held his hand and I felt his hand hold on to mine as well, and we drove all the way back to the house holding hands in the car. The silence was broken by a phrase from my dad that meant so much to me.
" Marla, you’re a good girl… a good girl."
I have wanted to hear that for a very long time.
He said something else to me after a minute or two.
" Marla, you are a good driver… very good."
"Thank you Daddy, thank you."

(My father died 2 years later and he lies in that very grave he pointed out to me.)
By: marla lukofsky
mmlukofsky7@aol.com
2002

One Moment in Time (published in Cell2Soul Medical Magazine)

2008-05-17T13:38:00.002-04:00

by: Marla Lukofsky

I want to tell you a story.
It took place during the radiation phase of my breast cancer treatments.
My radiation sessions were scheduled at the same time, every day, for six weeks. Each day, I saw the same patients, and the same technicians. We were all on a first name basis. I saw the same hot chocolate-cappuccino-coffee machine, the same cheap plastic bowl full of fresh apples, oranges and bananas, the same stack of well worn, out-of-date magazines, the same relatives and friends accompanying their cancer- laden loved ones, and the same zapping of radiation. The only thing that didn’t stay the same was our changing bodies. We were all deteriorating.

Not only was my body changing from the radiation but the deep chemically induced menopause I was in, was severely affecting my quality of life. If you can imagine how regular menopause affects women who lose their hormones gradually over a period of years, just think how it was for me to lose mine in two weeks. I was having extreme hot flashes every 10-minutes, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Some so harsh they left me faint. Menopause can also create a depressed feeling and I felt that creeping in as well.

My doctor told me that losing my hormones so fast due to chemotherapy was doing such a job on my body, it was like driving my car into a brick wall at 40 miles an hour. I found his analogy validating because that’s exactly how it felt. Smash! Bang! Boom!

Just to let you know, radiation in itself is actually quite painless. What happens as time wears on is that the skin that has been radiated gets burned. Sometimes it looks like a tan, sometimes it looks like a sunburn, and sometimes the skin gets so badly burned that the doctors are forced to stop the treatments altogether. That’s exactly what happened to my friend and cancer comrade, Lily.

Lily and I met in radiation. She was of Asian decent and even though she stumbled with her broken English, and I lacked the ability to speak Chinese, we understood each other perfectly. Just like schoolgirls, we saved seats for each other every day. We connected on many levels and as the weeks moved along, we developed a great love and respect for each other. One day Lilly announced to me that she would no longer be coming for treatment. She opened up her shirt and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was shocked by the severity of the burns on her chest. I don’t know if Lily’s skin was more sensitive than mine or if her level of radiation was stronger, but what I do know is that Lily’s chest couldn’t tolerate any more radiation and her treatments were stopped permanently. I felt terrible for the hopelessness of her situation and selfishly I felt terrible for myself – I would miss her. I made several attempts to stay in touch with her, but sadly we never saw each other again.

While sitting in the waiting room day after day, I also became friends with Peter. He had prostate cancer and we soon became good buddies. Due to his treatments, Peter was going through male menopause; with many of the symptoms that women experience. Frequent bouts of crying, periods of insomnia, low libido and an overall lack of well-being. He often shared his emotional and physiological changes with me in great detail because he knew that I would understand.

Peter and I developed quite a bond and played pranks on each other regularly. Every day, while waiting for his name to be called, Peter ate a banana from the fruit bowl. He just loved bananas. One day, Peter was late for his treatment and I noticed that there was only one banana left in the bowl. I didn’t want anyone to grab it, so being the prankster that I am; I snatched up that last banana and hid it in my pocket. When Peter finally arrived, he ran over to the fruit bowl but alas – no banana. He was soooo disappointed.
“ What’s wrong Peter?” I asked. “You look so sad?”
“ I wanted a banana but there’s none left”, he answered glumly.
“ Ah…that’s too bad. Well, look down here. Oh my goodness. Is this a banana in my pocket or am I just happy to see ya?”
I quickly whipped out the banana and Peter’s face lit up. To most people, this may have seemed like such a little thing, but those types of exchanges amused us to no end. That’s not the story I want to tell you.

We all had our own routines when it came to our radiation appointments. This was mine. I’d sign in, walk into one of five closet-like change rooms located in arms reach of the patient’s waiting room, put on one of those terribly revealing hospital gowns and leave my clothes on the hook, praying that no one stole them. Of course, I really didn’t have to worry too much about that. Being 5 feet tall, my pants would look like knickers on anyone else. After that, I’d sit in the waiting room, have a cappuccino, chat with a friend, read a gossip magazine to get up to date on the really important issues in life, and wait for my name to be called.

Each day was becoming harder than the next. I started to feel like I had nothing important to do or to give. To bring in some money and keep myself somewhat active, I got myself a part time job at the only place that would hire me, Tusquellas’ Fresh Fish Market. Can you imagine feeling sickly and still accepting work in a FRESH FISH MARKET? What was I thinking? Talk about upsetting aromas!!! The only plus was when I went into a huge hot flash, I just left the customer in the middle of their order, and jumped into the walk in freezer to cool off. Sometimes I’d come out with icicles on my face.

Every day like clockwork, while my spirits were plummeting, I’d leave work and go to my radiation sessions. When my name was called, I’d walk into the cold radiation room, lay down on the sterile slab, take off my hospital gown, lie there naked from the waist up chilled to the bone, and watch the huge high tech radiation machine move about the ceiling until the grid pattern that it projected, hit the permanent tattoo marks on my chest. The machine would zoom in close, and the technician would run out of the room as fast as they could and hide behind a five-inch thick Plexiglas sealed container. That got me to thinking, ‘ Hey, if it’s that dangerous for them, then what am I still doing in here?’
“ Are you ready Marla?”, they’d ask over the intercom.
“ Yes I am.”
“ Ok then. You can keep breathing, but DON”T MOVE.”
Talk about a contradiction.

Then the radiation machine would let out a disturbing high-pitched sound, alternating with a machine gun popping, and in a minute or two it was done, only to be repeated on another part of my chest. There were three spots in total. Ten minutes later, it was all over. They’d done their job in zapping me and I’d done my job in lying still and taking in the rays.

The technicians always asked me how I was doing before we started the treatment and my answers varied from time to time but the sentiments were the same.
“I feel sad, useless, and I got this stinky part time job cleaning fish.”
The technicians never said much back to me except for the regular platitudes. I hate platitudes. On a regular basis I would challenge them. “Don’t be so guarded with me or any of us. It’s ok. We’re not going to hurt you.” I guess what I said had an impact, because when I got my Certificate of Completion from the Comprehensive Cancer Center, there was a handwritten inscription on it saying ‘ Don’t be so guarded.’
OK. I still haven’t told you the story.

One day, while sitting on the cold slab in the radiation chamber, my technician du jour, Andrew, asked me how I was doing. Maybe he was expecting me to say the colloquial ‘I’m fine thanks and you?, but I didn’t, - not that day. That day, I told him the truth.
“ To be quite honest Andrew, I’m awful. I work in a fish market every day, I smell like Tilapia, and I feel like I don’t have a purpose in my life anymore.” I started to cry and cry. Andrew handed me a Kleenex and said thoughtfully, “ Marla, I think you do have a purpose. Maybe you just can’t see it right now.”
“What are you talking about Andrew? All I do is come in here every day stinking of fish, get zapped, glow from the radiation and go home. Nothing more than that”, I cried.
“Well Marla, I’ll tell you what I see.” Andrew calmly continued.
“ The other day we had a new patient. Remember? She came in with her husband. The one with the blue scarf on her head. As you know, we have to take the mandatory Polaroid picture of each new patient for our records, so that we can make sure we are giving the right radiation to the right person. Anyway, you and Peter were sitting together, chatting away as per usual. We came in to the waiting room to take this woman’s picture, but she refused to let us and cried out,
‘No, you can’t take my picture. I’m ugly. I look terrible and I feel terrible, and I don’t want anyone to see me like this. No, no picture.’
We tried to explain that we couldn’t start her treatments until we had the Polaroid. Regulations, you know! Her husband tried to change her mind, another technician tried too, but she wouldn’t budge. We left the room re-thinking our strategy and she sat there holding her face in her hands, crying. Then I saw you Marla. You went over to her, knelt down right in front of her, put your hands on her knees and gently said,
‘Hi, my name’s Marla. I couldn’t help but hear what you said about the picture, and the way you look. I really understand some of what you feel, not all of it because I’m not you but I have to tell you something. Underneath my scarf, I look just like you.’
And Marla… you took off your red bandana and exposed your bald head to this woman, someone you’d never met before. A stranger. Then you said to her,
‘ You see… I look just like you. And you know what else? I think you’re beautiful, and I know beauty when I see it and YOU…are BEAUTIFUL. I wish I had your looks. Now, if you don’t let them take your picture, you won’t be able to start your radiation treatments. And the sooner you start them, the sooner it’ll be all over and you’ll start feeling better. I let them take my picture and I am nowhere near as beautiful as you are.’

Well Marla… that woman sat there for a minute, thought about your words and finally blurted out, ‘ OK… I’ll let them take my picture.’ As soon as she said that, we scrambled in, snapped her picture before she changed her mind, and got her into the radiation room. Her husband was grateful and so were we. And now you come in here and tell me that you don’t have a purpose? Well, all I can say is that what you did for that woman was a wonderful thing. You helped her get through a difficult time. What’s more important than that? I saw you take that banana for Peter and make him laugh. I saw you get that hot chocolate for Cheryl and get her to open up to you. Even though you feel terrible right now, you have to remind yourself that you help people more than you realize and in my books, that’s having a purpose - a very important purpose.”
I was shocked at his recall ability.
“ How the hell did you know about that Andrew?” I asked. “ Do you have hidden cameras everywhere?”
“ Actually, yes, we do, in every room, with intercom systems. We watch and listen to everything that goes on around here”, he replied.

I sat there and absorbed all that Andrew had said. It made me feel better. It gave me a new perspective on things. You see… he took the time for me, to point out that I took the time for someone else.
It was only one moment out of our lives, one moment in time, but it gave so much. Sometimes... that’s all it takes to help each other get through to the next day and the day after that. Sometimes... it’s just that simple.
That’s the story I wanted to tell you.

Marla Lukofsky
mmlukofsky7@aol.com

Small Talk

2008-05-17T12:49:00.003-04:00

By: Marla Lukofsky

Cindy loved parties and why wouldn’t she. She looked like Elizabeth Taylor from the film classic, National Velvet. Cindy was as cute as cute could be, petite with shoulder-length straight black hair and sparkling brown eyes. She had a wonderful little nose, complete with brown freckles that would soon fade with age, and a smile that would melt your heart if given the chance.

To me, Cindy was above average- she had an energy about her, a joie-de-vivre if you will, that was much more exciting than mine, and a keen sense of humor. I always thought that Cindy’s family was above average as well, perhaps more wealthy than the rest of us. After all, her family was the first on the block to get a colored television set, unheard of way back in the 1960’s. For all I knew, Cindy was the only person in the world who had a color TV. And she graciously invited her friends over to watch ‘The Flintstones’, in living color on Saturday mornings...a cartoon extravaganza. I never knew Fred’s toga was orange up until then.

Cindy had two older sisters, just like I did. We were all friends. The sisters were paired up according to age. Gayle, Cindy’s eldest, was matched up with my eldest sister Fernie. Karen, her middle sister was hooked up with my middle sister Elaine, and the leftovers, were Cindy and myself. Even though she and I were three years apart in age, we were the same height back then standing about 4’9”, pretty average for everyone that age. For me 4’9” felt like it was about the tallest I would ever get to be... that is, without standing on a chair. I did end up reaching a respectable 5’ even. Whoopee! Gosh, we had so many things in common. Our sisters...our height... Cindy was my best friend... that month.

Back then, I had a thick black head of hair that, for my mother’s sake, was conveniently styled in a pageboy cut. No fuss, no muss I guess. My eyes were large and almond shaped with a bronze hue and my eyelashes were so long that when I got close to a person, they could give butterfly kisses. These eyes became my signature piece. I wasn’t particularly thin nor was I fat. Just an average looking little tomboy, in an average family setting, living in an average middle class neighborhood in the suburbs of Toronto. There was only one problem, one little quirk that set me outside the bounds of normalcy. I hated parties.

I must have been nine or ten years old when my buddy, comrade, and co-conspirator, Cindy, was having her 7th birthday party. When I say co-conspirator, I mean it. After all, we had our first cigarette together, we got our hands caught in the new electric garage door that was installed at my house, and we both got stuck in the laundry dryer after satisfying our curiosity as to which would be a better ride, the washer or the dryer. Just for the record…it was the dryer. The agitator can be a bitch.

It was decided, certainly not by me, that my father would accompany me to Cindy’s party, not that it was strange or odd for a parent to accompany their child to parties but most parents were there for the chaperone effect. Mine was there because my parents gave birth to a backward-socialized, fear-ridden daughter, who had a habit of becoming paralyzed at the mere thought of being amongst groups of unsolicited humans. Why was I like that? Where did this come from? What psychological traumatic event took place to form such an adverse social reaction? Who cares. It just was. That’s why life was so much easier playing by myself in the family garage, building multiple story Popsicle stick complexes that Frank Lloyd Wright would have salivated over. I actually had fantasies that Mr. Wright would call me up one day because he heard about this 10-year-old girl who would be a great contribution to the world of architecture and ask me to become his associate. I could just see it, painted neatly and precisely in Times font lettering on the distinguished plate glass door. WRIGHT, WRIGHT, & LUKOFSKY.

My father walked me or shall I say, dragged me unwillingly to Cindy’s birthday party, which was across the street and around the corner on Lois Avenue. We lived on Wenderly Drive, not three minutes away by tricycle. If one would look back retracing our steps, you would have seen a double rutted trail through the lawn left by my stubborn heels, which had been firmly planted in the ground.

We finally arrived at the dreaded destination and walked into Cindy’s house from the side door, as did everyone back then. You see, her parents rarely let anyone including their own family members use the front door. That was only used for special occasions like funerals. That may sound flippant, and I don’t mean it to, but the fact remains that the only time I got to walk through that front door was years later when Cindy’s mother died of spinal cancer at much too young an age, but isn’t it always too young for anyone to die before they are ready to. I remember quite vividly on that funeral day, walking through their front door with my sisters Elaine and Fernie by my side for the condolence visit, and thinking to myself, ’So this is what the foyer looks like’.

As I was saying, it was Cindy’s birthday party. We walked into her modestly styled little three-bedroom bungalow through the side door with my father trailing close behind me. We immediately but cautiously headed downstairs to the basement because that was where the party for Cindy was being held.

I was dressed in a ‘monkey suit’, which is a ‘party dress’ to most of the human population, complete with stiff and itchy crinoline, and well-worn school shoes on my feet. I didn’t have party shoes like my party-going sister Elaine, because my refusal to go to parties didn’t warrant purchasing such extravagant things, according to my mother.

My father, who was still right behind me, kept reassuring me that the party would be ‘loads and loads of fun’ and he would be with me at all times so not to worry. In my mind, my father stood six feet tall and had a body like Superman, the looks of Tyrone Power and a dashing tan like Cary Grant. If my Daddy said there was nothing to worry about then I wanted to believe him. I didn’t believe him, but I wanted to believe him, so we continued downstairs towards the basement.

The noise that came from the basement or recreation room as some liked to call it, was very intimidating. My heart started to pound, my stomach started to churn and my palms became sweaty. I could smell the food in the distance. (Sniff, sniff.) Not just any food. Cake. (Sniff, sniff.) Not just any cake but Angel Food cake with the multi-colored sparkles, (Sniff, sniff) and bowls of potato chips… the rippled kind. (Sniff, sniff), and party sandwiches, the ones with no crust and the olive in the center. I particularly loved the tuna ones and still do. (Sniff, sniff)... and those wonderful little vanilla ice cream cups. You know… the ones that came with it’s own little wooden spoons. You may have noticed... I have a very good sense of smell. And that’s when it really hit me. Right then. Boom. Reality set in. THIS WAS A PARTY and there was no turning back.

I remember taking each step as if it was my last, as if I was headed towards the lynch man’s noose. I got to the last stair and was overcome by the sight of all those little creatures running around in circles, laughing, squealing, and chattering, dressed in their monkey suits and shiny black patent party shoes with their parents dutifully by their sides. After all, it was the thing to do then, to escort children to parties.

When I entered the large recreation room, I was amazed at how this usually dull, mildew-smelling space could be transformed into something quite different. In fact, it was unrecognizable. This surely was not the same room that Cindy and I were sent down to play in every Saturday afternoon, where we would frolic, make noise and plan our next juvenile criminal act without the fear of reprimand. This basement was now appropriately decorated with a colorful array of red, white, blue and yellow balloons, strategically placed to induce joy and celebration wherever one would look. Let me tell ya, it didn’t fool me for a second.

I walked with dread into this party room and all of the people or should I say parents and children alike, turned towards me and responded to my arrival as if I was royalty. You could cut the tension with a knife.
“ Look who’s here? I can’t believe it... it’s the girl who never goes to parties... Well, it’s about time stranger... Welcome Marla... You’ll have a great time... You’re gonna have so much fun, fun, fun.”

I was quickly whisked off against my will and shown to the elaborately designed birthday cake, party sandwiches and the latest games that Mattel had to offer. Too bad I had lost my appetite because I LOVED party sandwiches and they're so expensive to buy. When I kept hearing those adults, guaranteeing my enjoyment with their 'fun fun fun' mantra, I said to myself, ‘Yeah right. You think this is fun? Well this ain’t for me folks. I’m busting out of here as soon as I can, or at least as soon as my Daddy lets me.’ So I turned and looked up, up, up, way up to my father's face for comfort while these claustrophobic feelings started to engulf me, but oddly I couldn’t find him. I was horrified. Where was he? Suddenly I heard an abrupt sound and my eyes quickly shifted towards it, to the image of the back of my father’s black haired head and the soles of his shoes leaving the doorway of the side door of Cindy’s home while the metal screen door snapped shut behind him. Next thing I knew, someone started screaming. It wasn’t just anyone. It was me.
“ No Daddy, no! No! Where are you going? Don’t leave me here...”
All of the remaining parents started to stalk towards me like a crazed mob, like the Body Snatchers with their arms stretched out, a brainwashed glaze in their eyes and uttering a mindless chant--, “It’s o.k. Marla. Everything will be all right. Calm down Marla.”-- trying to distract me as if I was a simple-minded creature that could be so easily swayed by something else other than the terror that I felt at being left behind, with these strangers, these aliens, while watching my parent and my protector leave me behind... alone.

I screamed and shouted and kicked and shoved and confirmed to the onlookers that my reputation of being a very odd partygoer wasn’t too far from the truth. I ran towards the stairs to escape this intrusion of terror and suddenly felt all of these arms around me, holding me back, with their continuous chanting, “It’s o.k. Marla. We are going to have a ‘fun’ time, just relax.” What was this obsession about FUN? Now I was SURE they were the Body Snatchers. I pushed and pulled and got out of their grasp, ran up to the top of the stairs, flung open that screen door with all my might, and ran down the grassy knoll to Lois Avenue as fast as I could, shouting “ Wait Daddy, wait, wait, wait for me, don’t leave me here.”

Shockingly, I saw my family’s station wagon turning the corner from Lois onto Wenderly Drive with my father in the driver’s seat. I noticed the silhouettes of my mother and two sisters in the car as well. ‘Oh my God!’ I thought to myself. ‘Are they all in on this cruel deception? How could they be? Sure, my sisters just do what they are told but how could my mother do this to me? She has too much social pain herself. She would understand my torment. Her empathy would take over, wouldn’t it?’

The family station wagon drove off down Wenderly Drive and I chased that car while running down the middle of the street as fast as my little pudgy legs could take me --monkey suit and all. I probably would have made much better time if I were wearing my beloved blue jeans and P.F. Flyer running shoes with secret decoder. I chased that car and chased that car for what seemed like miles. I could see my mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror with a look of disbelief or shame, I don’t know which, realizing that her little tyke wasn’t at Cindy's party anymore and obviously wasn’t going to stop chasing their car, no matter what until...SCREEEEEEEECH!!!!!
There was a big screeching sound. The family station wagon slammed on its brakes with the red backlights ablaze.

Now that the car was at a dead stop, I finally caught up to it. The left rear door swung open and I breathlessly jumped into the backseat and slid over beside my sister Elaine for comfort. The car door slammed shut.
‘Free at last, free at last, thank god all mighty I’m free at last’ were my inner thoughts.
A pregnant pause ensued and the car drove off in continuation to its original destination which was unknown to me. Silence filled the space. My mother’s head began to move ever so slightly to and fro, left to right, while murmuring the following words under her breath as she does to this very day...“ Marla, Marla, Marla.”

I felt so safe and relieved to be in their car, away from those people, those strangers at the party. However, if I had my wish, I wished I had been left alone at home, without my family, with only my solitude, so I could fantasize and daydream in peace. My parents often felt uncomfortable leaving me alone in the house... too young I suppose for them. Not for me.

After that incident, I thought that I could never trust my father again. Of course those were just a child’s thoughts. As an adult, I do trust my father, but I have often wondered ‘how could he have done that to me?’ Maybe he thought it was the right thing to do, getting me acclimatized to parties and not being reliant on him. I suppose he didn’t know me very well back then. I think at times, he still doesn’t.

By Marla Lukofsky
1998
mmlukofsky7@aol.com

Mother Parkers Coffee Poster on the TTC

2008-04-26T14:46:00.006-04:00

Just in case you were wondering, I'm the one on the left on a good day, or the one on the right on a bad day. The dame in the middle, I have no idea who she is.

Marla and her mother.

2008-04-26T14:27:00.010-04:00

Here's the story behind this picture. Tabi Clothing stores is a national chain. In 2006 Tabi decided to run a breast cancer awareness photo campaign which hung in their store windows across the country. In their display, they selected 5 photos of cancer survivors poising with the person who helped them survive their difficult journey. There were photos of mothers with daughters, friends with friends, wives with husbands, and so on. A friend submitted the story of my journey and like many others, my mother was very instrumental in helping me get through my cancer but one fact made my story different from the others. I was the only one who had to poise with a picture because, unfortunately, my mother died of Leukemia, a few years after I survived. Tabi thought that the image of me poising with a picture of my mother would be powerful. I agreed. And I also wanted to honour her memory and her strength. This photo of my mother was taken only 2 months before she was diagnosed, and 8 months before she died.

Marla's Art from 'The Getty'

2008-04-20T20:19:00.008-04:00

This piece is called 'I Love Women'.

I drew it while touring the New Getty Museum in Los
Angeles. At the end of the tour, there was an art room
with numerous art supplies and a request that each visitor experience being an artist by putting something down on the provided paper. This is what came out of me.

One month later, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Interesting that this woman has one breast and is bald.
Talk about foreshadowing!

Speaking Engagements of 'I'm Still Here...And So Is My Hair' Speech

2008-04-20T20:15:00.013-04:00

General Electric Conference at University of Toronto (Toronto,ON)
Bayview Secondary School (Richmond Hill, ON)
Mind, Body and Soul: Support Centre (Richmond Hill, ON)
Ernestine’s Women’s Shelter (Toronto, ON)
Thunder Bay Regional Cancer Centre: Luncheon of Hope Fundraiser (Thunder Bay, ON)
Sunnybrook Hospital Odette Cancer Centre: Speakers Series: Botanical Gardens (Toronto, ON)
Glaxo-Smith-Kline Drug Conference (Miami,FLA)
Halifax Cancer Conference: “Living with Cancer” (Halifax, NS)
Holy Blossom Synagogue (Toronto, ON)
Na'amat Canada (Toronto, ON)
Jewish Women Int'l Elan (Toronto, ON)
Mount Sinai Hospital Fundraiser (Toronto, ON)
Pamper Me Senseless: Cancer Fundraiser (Waterloo, ON)
L’Chaim: Women’s Cancer Support Fundraiser (Toronto, ON)
United Jewish Appeal -Lipa Green Building (Toronto, ON)
Canadian Cancer Society Tour (Woodstock, Stratford, Clinton, ON)
The Olive Branch of Hope Symposium (Toronto, ON)
National Council of Jewish Women Appreciation Celebration x2 (Toronto, ON)
Gilda’s Place (Toronto, ON)
Saskatchewan Cancer Conference: “Rependa: Living with Cancer” (Saskatoon, SK)
Women’s College Hospital (Toronto, ON)
Willow Breast Cancer Support – Canada (Toronto, ON)

A Patient's Prayer

2008-04-20T20:11:00.005-04:00

Oh God, let me live to fight the fight.

That's all that I ask for, a chance to fight.

I don't have to win but I sure want to try.

That's all that I ask for, before I might die.

July 1998

HOW I SPENT MY YOM KIPPUR OF 2004

2008-04-20T20:01:00.006-04:00

This was a Yom Kippur unlike any other.
Major changes had happened this year and more changes were to come.
I don’t like change much.
As for myself, I had survived a rough ride with breast cancer a few years earlier, and had now entered into my second year of being transplanted from California back to Toronto. I met this change with much resistance and melancholy from missing my life in Los Angeles and my relationship in Oregon. I still feel like a displaced person at times and I still have a fragile heart on and off.
Some things never change I guess.

To keep myself sane and stable in between showbiz auditions and few bookings, I started my own flaxseed cookie business. It was called 'Marla's Marvels Flaxseed Cookies'.
‘ This Cookie Will Move You In More Ways Than One’ was the slogan of my high fiber delectable delight. I went from Comedy to Cookies, from funnies to flax and I had no idea what I was doing but I knew one thing.
It was helping me get through to the next day and the day after that. As my father would say,
"It's keeping you out of trouble Marla."

The most prominent change of 2004 happened when my father, Lou Lukofsky, the quiet patriarch of the family, suddenly died on June 1st. It changed the Lukofsky clan’s life forever and any and every activity and event after that day felt like a hurdle because it would be a first without him, Lou, our father, and my mother’s life partner for over 55 years. Now Yom Kippur was upon us and it would be the first of many Yom Kippurs where my mother would attend their synagogue for the High Holidays without Lou by her side.

Initially, I decided not to attend High Holiday services at our Traditional Conservative style Synagogue, Beth Torah, also known as the Little Shul that Could. I felt bitter and futile over my father’s death and the death of so many things in my life so I declined.
After Rosh Hoshana, I received a message from my sister’s that an old friend of mine, Thea, had requested me to attend the services for Yom Kippur, “ Tell your sister to get her ass here for Yom Kippur or else”. Well that was enough of a request for me and it got me to Beth Torah for the continuation of the High Holiday services.

The day I went to shul for Yom Kippur, the weather was pleasant for Toronto being not too cold, not too hot, not too wet and not too dry. I survived the Kol Nidre service, which I do find a more meaningful one than the others. I was there in the row beside my two older sisters and my mother who sat in the isle seat where my father would have sat.
One down and one more day to go. I woke up in time for the day’s fast and already broke it by having a much-needed cup of tea. Shame on me. I attended the entire day’s service and went back to my apartment during the break which ran from 2:30pm-5: 30pm.
I had noted that the Rabbi Yossi Sapirman was leading a discussion group in the sanctuary during the break, which was to end at 5:30pm just in time to continue the final stage of the holiday service. The subject matter of the discussion was Homosexuality and Judaism. When reading this title in the program, I had to rub my eyes and reread it, not believing what I saw. How daring of him to discuss such a subject. How wonderful of him. I had no desire to attend. I would be there at 5:31pm.

I walked over to the shul from my mother’s house and made it just in time for 5:30pm hoping that the congregation would be filing in for services but there was hardly anyone there yet. I saw my mother in the lobby chatting with two men, friends of my father.
There were no chairs to sit on in the lobby so I peeked into the sanctuary to see if anything was starting.

To my disappointment, the discussion group was still going on.
I had purposely avoided attending this group primarily because I felt I knew all there was to know about how Jewish folk felt about homosexuals, especially after seeing the movie, ‘ Trembling Before God’. I didn’t want to hear any irrational, ignorant ranting and ravings, pouts or preachings on anything to do with that subject matter. Do I stay or do I go? I decided to stay and grab a seat hoping that it would end soon and we could get on with it.

The Rabbi was sitting on the steps of the stage, casually reading details of Jewish beliefs for and against Homosexuals. ‘ Oh God’, I thought. ‘I can’t handle listening to this rhetoric. This better end soon.’ To my surprise there were approximately 75 people conglomerated in the front centre rows of the room clutching to the Rabbi’s every word.

Finally the Rabbi opened the floor for questions and comments, a deadly combination.
I was so hoping that no one would say anything because if they did and if it upset me, I didn’t know how I was going to respond but I knew one thing for sure. IF I heard something upsetting, I was going to say something.

A woman behind me put up her arm and spoke her piece. “ I believe that homosexuals have the right to have equal rights for employment, etc, but I don’t believe they should be allowed to get married in a synagogue because it says in the Bible that people who marry should be able to procreate and homosexuals cannot.”

Suddenly I had this rush go up my spine. Something strong came over my body. My arm flew up into the air getting the rabbi’s attention. I was not sure what I was going to say but I was sure that I had to say something. While these thoughts and uncertainties were scrambling across my brain, another woman, the widow of the first rabbi of Beth Torah stood up to say these words of wisdom.
“ The Bible says Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve. It is wrong and disgusting to be homosexual.” The cluster of those 75 listeners broke into laughter at her clever little ditty. This infuriated me and now I was certain that something had to be said to set a record straight. The Rabbi came back to me finally and said, “Yes, Marla, you wanted to say something?”

I got this pit in my stomach, as if I was doing a new stand-up show at Carnegie Hall. Still I was not sure what I was going to say and I prayed that by the time I stood to my feet, the words would come out of me and all make sense. What I said was a surprise to everyone there but no one was more surprised than I was.

“ My name is Marla Lukofsky and my father was one of the founding members of this very synagogue and I am a homosexual.”
At that point every head turned towards me and you could hear a pin drop.
I continued.

“ I have grown up with many of you since I was a child, standing shoulder to shoulder with you. Some of you may have liked me. I wonder now, if any of you no longer like me now that I have said what I said. I am sure there must be other homosexuals in this congregation but you will never know who they are because they don’t feel fully accepted and comfortable enough to expose themselves for whom they really are. I am sure there are homosexuals who were once members of this synagogue but have now left to go somewhere else where sexual preference is a non issue and you will never know who they are or what they could have contributed to this shul.

Jewish people on a daily basis complain about being prejudiced against by others and have fought for their own equal rights like anyone else. Yet it’s Jewish people who do not allow those very same human rights that they demand and extend them to homosexuals, another persecuted minority, and a minority who’s only crime is that they love another person of the same sex. How can you as a Jew ask something for yourself that you are not willing to give to someone else? It just is not right. You live in a glass house and yet you throw stones.”

I glanced over to the other side of the room and saw my mother sitting in her chair, alone. I said to the small congregation, “My mother is sitting there and she has no idea that I was going to say this and neither did I and god knows what she is thinking right now but this has to be said.”
I continued.
“To the woman who quoted the bible and marriage issue, I have to ask you this:
If your daughter fell in love with a man but she was sterile and could not conceive, according to you, your own daughter would not be allowed to get married in this synagogue even if she was a member. Quoting the bible is a very dangerous thing.
You have to be well versed in it and I am not nor are you for if you were, you would understand that there are quotes in the bible that approve blacks as slaves and the stoning of women and I am sure you don’t support those things.”
I looked across the room and saw the other person I had to confront.
“And to the lady over there with the Adam and Eve quote. I just need to let you know that I don’t agree with anything you have said today.”

I continued. At this point I had a huge lump in my throat and the tears started to fall yet I got the words out clearly.

“When I discovered that I was gay, I told my father first, not my friends.
And my father said to me, “ Marla, are you happy being gay?”
“ Yes, Daddy, I am happy I know who I am” I replied.
My father said: “Well, mommy and I have always said we want you to be happy and if you are telling me that you are happy then I accept you and support you.”

Even though my tears were getting the best of me I plowed through and continued.
“That is what Judaism should be about and that is what love is all about and that is all I have to say.”
I sat down, with tears gently rolling down my face. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding.
‘Oh my god’…I thought to myself. ‘There are no more secrets and I am an open book.
Oh well. Let the chips fall where they may. I am ready for it.’
I felt I had lost everything valuable to me. I felt I had nothing to lose.
There was silence in the room for a moment. Then the rabbi asked if anyone else had anything to say. A man stood up and said in a faint voice “ changes should happen, but they must happen slowly.”

Once again I heard the words of the conservative person who has his equal rights intact. I still feel like there is no time like the present for such change. Patience is not needed for these types of changes. Not for the change to obtain equal human rights.

The rabbi concluded the discussion and said that the service would continue as soon as the entire congregation was seated in the sanctuary.
A man sitting in front of me turned to face me and with tears running down his face said:
“ I knew your father Lou. He was a good man and I know he would have said those words to you.”
I too started to cry. Then I looked up and saw a line of people forming, running the length of the sanctuary. They were listeners of the discussion group who wanted to talk to me. I figured they wanted to give me a piece of their mind, so I stood up on my feet to face the music.
“ Hello, my name is Susan and you are so brave to have said what you said and done what you did and I am so glad to have joined this shul and I am so honoured to meet you.” She shook my hand.
“ Hi, my name is Jeff and my 13 year old son is with me today and it is thoughts and words like yours that make me want to come to shul and participate in the community and I support everything you said and I am so glad to meet you.”
He had tears in his eyes while he shook my hand. “ Hi Marla. I liked you before and I like you even more now. How brave you are today.”

I could not believe what was happening. Person after person, tear after tear, compliment after compliment, handshake after handshake, one by one they came to greet me and shared their thoughts. It continued until there were no people left in line. I was shocked and overwhelmed with this outcome. The rest of the congregation did not know what was going on as they filed in to fill the seats. God knows they would hear about it later on and as it happens, for months to come.

I looked over to my mother, who was sitting rows away on the other side of the sanctuary. Now I had to face her music if there was any. As I stood up from my chair to move towards my mother, I stopped to say something to the woman behind me who had quoted the marriage bible issue.

I said to her calmly: “ Madame, if I ever get lucky enough to find someone who loves me as much as I love them, I would love to get married in this synagogue, the synagogue that my parents helped build. And if I cannot because of you or any persons who share your point of view, then that will be a very sad day for me and also for you, even though you may not realize it right now."

Then I headed over to my mother who was sitting quietly in her chair with her posture perfectly erect and her eyes fixed on mine. She rose to greet me. I put my hands on her shoulders and burst into tears yet was able to utter the words: “ Mommy, do you hate me?”
She put her arms around me and said,
“ NO Marla, of course I don’t hate you. Just look at it this way, now we are both out.”
At first I didn’t understand what she meant but then it became clear. Not only was I out as a gay person but she was out as a mother of a gay person. We both laughed at that point and embraced each other. She sat back down and I sat in the chair to her left. My mom leaned over and told me that the cantor thought I was incredible.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because while you were talking, he came up to me and told me so”, she answered.
Wow, I thought.

So, there I was, silently sitting beside my mom as if nothing had happened and that felt strange. Shouldn’t the world look different? Should it be different? I know my hands were still shaking and my heart was still fluttering.
After a few minutes, my mother broke our silence by placing her hand on my thigh and said:
“ Ya done good kid, ya done good.” Once again that lump in my throat grew. My mother had never said such a thing to me. She was a woman of few words but when she spoke, it meant something. I hope she remembers this day. How could she not.

My sisters finally arrived. They came into the sanctuary and scurried over to join us. They stood in the aisle and asked me to move over a few seats so that they could sit by my mother's side. I spoke up firmly to them for the first time. “ NO”.
They were surprised and baffled by my response.
“ Why do you want to sit beside mommy so much?” they asked. "You never wanted to do that before?"
“ Something big happened,” I said.
“ What?” they asked.
“ I can’t tell you now but I will later”, I replied.
“What happened? We have to know now”, they demanded.
“Something big happened and that's all I'm going to say”, I concluded.
They leaned over to my mother and probed her as well but mum was the word.

Ten minutes was remaining in the service. Rabbi Yossi left his position on the beema and quickly rushed over to where we were seated. He leaned over and said that he wanted me to have the honor of closing the Yom Kippur ceremonies by reading a particular chapter, as he handed me a folded piece of paper. “Come up in 3 minutes or so Marla.” Then the Rabbi dashed back to the beema.

I was shocked and nervous. Even though I was a stand-up comic for decades and performed in front of hundreds and at times thousands of people, the Rabbi's request made me shiver.
I looked at my mother while clutching this piece of paper in my hand and said, “ I don’t know if I can do this?”
“ Yes you can Marla. You can do this", said my mom. I felt my mother's courage and let it rub off on me.

I waited for 3 minutes and finally went up to the beema. The rabbi took me under his wing and we stood there together with our backs to the congregation. While the prayers were being said, Rabbi Yossi confessed to me that he thought what I did today was grand and I had more of an impact on these people than anything that had happened during these high holidays. He continued, “I could give 1000 sermons but it would not have accomplished what you did today with your one. You didn’t just give a sermon Marla; … you were a sermon. I hope you are proud of yourself Marla… I know you have had a very hard time these last few years but take this moment with you and let it stay within you.”

Finally it was time for me to read my paragraph.
I read it the way I had always thought these things should be read but rarely are.
I read the words slowly and surely, with meaning and substance, while occasionally looking up to the audience. I looked right into their eyes as if I were reading to them individually.
The paragraph was filled with words of hope for the future.
Did I believe in them personally?… well… I'm too skeptical and fragile to believe in such things but I did hope that all who were listening believed in them.
And I thought to myself…. ‘ This was a Yom Kippur like no other and never shall be. Maybe this is what Yom Kippur should be about when entering into a new year, a year full of new hope with new ideas.’
I also wondered , if my father were still alive and sitting with my mother, what would he be thinking of me after what I had done and said today. But no matter what anyone thought, I knew that I had done what I needed to do to be true to myself. And I truly believe that I had done the right thing.

By: Marla Lukofsky
November 25, 2004

* Sadly on February 9th, 2006, 19 months after my father’s death, my mother, Ruth Lukofsky passed away after a most difficult battle with Leukemia and the complications that ensued. The fact that my mother witnessed this day and told me in her own way that she was proud of me, makes this story all the more meaningful to me.

** Also, I want it noted that not only are some Jewish people discriminating against homosexuals but people from all minorities, visible or not. That's what is most shocking to me.

A Converted Song

2008-04-18T22:13:00.000-04:00

The J you see inside me shows
The jewels in my eyes.
The E that glows upon me shows
Eternity of ties.
The W has now come through
To keep them all in place,
And yet I do not pray to G-d
Unless it’s ills I face.

I see the morning sunlight shine
Between my window blind.
There’s something in my eyes I feel,
The tears are hard to find.

I feel the urge to brace myself
And find a room to cry.
The problem’s there, it’s in my soul
Don’t know the reason why.

My heart is in an painful state.
My troubles so confined.
I cannot sort them out myself,
Can’t see the silver line.

I need someone to take apart
My life with loving care.
They must point out the errors
Of a life that isn’t there.

So many times I ask myself
Why should it be this way,
To live a life that isn’t there,
The act is all in vain.

And yet there is a Jew in me
Who keeps the pressure strong.
The pressure is to strive for life
And sing a soulful song.

Marla Lukofsky 1975.

The Nights Are Mine Alone

2008-04-18T21:59:00.002-04:00

When I wake up to take my part
Of pressure, misery and sacrifice,
I soon realize that I cannot distinguish between
What is mine and what is not?

Is nature mine or just a vise
Used for squeezing out works
To fill the poet's infinite appetite?

Is happiness mine or is it just
Here to show the difference from discontent?

Is nothing mine?

Is my life my own or is it just
Another living example to display
Nature in all its glory

For even if I were to take my own life,
It would not be mine but rather a piece of the media
And an excuse for family and friends
To receive sympathy from strangers.

As my body lies down to rest
And my face moulds itself into the pillow,
I see in the quiet darkness that
The nights are mine alone.
For whatever else I have not,
The nights are mine alone.

Marla Lukofsky
Dec.17, 1974

Memoir of a Chemo Patient (published in Cell2Soul Medical Magazine)

2008-04-18T21:46:00.003-04:00

One night, while I lay in bed, feeling sickly after hours of receiving chemotherapy, a mosquito flew into my bedroom, landed on my arm and bit me. I then wrote this poem.

MEMOIR OF A CHEMO PATIENT

Last Night A Mosquito Bit Me.
It Sucked Up My Poisonous Blood.
I Watched It Fall Fast To The Ground.
And All Of Its Little Black Hairs,
Fell Out Of Its Little Black Legs.
It Was Stilled Forever.
Good.
That’s What You Call Sweet Revenge.

1998 Marla Lukofsky